was not unmitigated bliss.

"What makes you think she does?"

"Well, between ourselves," said Tom, looking a little sheepish, but
anxious to set his mind at rest, "she never will let me kiss her on her
cheek, nothing but an unsatisfactory peck at her lips. Then the
other day, as I took a bit of heliotrope out of a vase to put in my
button-hole, I whisked a drop of water into her face; I was going to
wipe it off, but she pushed my hand away, and ran to the glass, where
she carefully dabbed it dry, and came back with one cheek redder than
the other. I did n't say anything, but I had my suspicions. Come now,
does she?"

"Yes, she does; but don't say a word to her, for she 'll never forgive
my telling if she knew it."

"I don't care for that; I don't like it, and I won't have it," said Tom,
decidedly.

"You can't help yourself. Half the girls do it, either paint or powder,
darken their lashes with burnt hair-pins, or take cologne on lumps of
sugar or belladonna to make their eyes bright. Clara tried arsenic for
her complexion, but her mother stopped it," said Fanny, betraying the
secrets of the prison-house in the basest manner.

"I knew you girls were a set of humbugs, and very pretty ones, too,
some of you, but I can't say I like to see you painted up like a lot of
actresses," said Tom, with an air of disgust.

"I don't do anything of the sort, or need it, but Trix does; and having
chosen her, you must abide your choice, for better or worse."

"It has n't come to that yet," muttered Tom, as he lay down again with a
rebellious air.

Maud's return put an end to these confidences, though Tom excited her
curiosity by asking the mysterious question, "I say, Fan, is Polly up to
that sort of thing?"

"No, she thinks it 's awful. When she gets pale and dragged out she will
probably change her mind."

"I doubt it," said Tom.

"Polly says it is n't proper to talk secrets before people who ain't in
'em," observed Maud, with dignity.

"Do, for mercy sake, stop talking about Polly, I 'm sick to death of
it," cried Fanny, snappishly.

"Hullo!" and Tom sat up to take a survey. "I thought you were bosom
friends, and as spoony as ever."

"Well, I am fond of Polly, but I get tired of hearing Maud sing her
praises everlastingly. Now don't go and repeat that, chatterbox."

"My goodness, is n't she cross?" whispered Maud to Tom.

"As two sticks; let her be. There 's the bell; see who it is, Pug,"
answered Tom, as a ting